


I Will Take The Sun In My Mouth

by YouLookGoodInLeather



Series: The Summer Court Has Shit Security [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Amren is pretty much a literal goddess, F/M, Mistress, Oral Sex, Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Worship, or a dragon, possibly both
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 04:05:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9861728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouLookGoodInLeather/pseuds/YouLookGoodInLeather
Summary: Around her neck, Amren wore the ruby necklace he had not long sent her as a peace offering. Was this her demented idea of returning the favour?________________________________________Varian and Amren both have certain reputations. However, only one of them can live up to theirs, especially when a certain necklace is involved.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For such a badass character, there is not enough Amren-centric fic in this world. Set sometime shortly after the events of the Summer Court fiasco. Title credit goes to E. E. Cummings and his poem 'I Will Wade Out'. Thank you to all of the lovely ACOMAF fandom for getting me back into writing. I didn't need my free time anyway.

Varian was notoriously chaste. Straight-laced. It was a trait Cresseida often teased him over, and even Tarquin was not above suggesting Varian take more nights off from work to better ‘entertain’ the ladies of the Summer Court. His was a reputation built on decades of caution and strict discipline.

A reputation that would be ruined were anyone to witness the naked woman stood proudly at the head of his room.

“You- How did you get in here?” He demanded, hurrying to shut his chamber doors behind him. In answer, he received only a smirk from the woman - _creature_ might be a more apt description - admiring the cufflinks arranged upon his dresser. Had he really expected an explanation?

“This could be considered an act of war, you know,” he said through clenched teeth, staying by the safety of the door. For all that legendary self-control he was so famed for, he could not prevent his gaze from raking over the swells of her pert breasts and sharp hips, from drinking in the unnatural sheen of her dark skin, smooth and strong as tempered copper. “Not- Not to mention it’s c-completely inappropriate.”

“I grew bored,” Amren said, dropping the gold trinkets in disinterest, “of waiting for you to make up your mind.” She turned to him, on full display. “I’ve no patience with children.”

“I am not a child-”

“You are all children to me, boy,” she said, her voice feather soft, but filled with the quiet power of many a millenia. “But I find some of you to be more palatable than others.”  

Varian could not help himself, even as he was so openly insulted; He stared at her naked figure, noting how that was not quite an accurate description. Around her neck, Amren wore the ruby necklace he had not long sent her as a peace offering. Was this her demented idea of returning the favour?

“I thought it polite to let you view your gift in use,” she said in that condescending, amused tone of hers, the one that put Varian in mind of dark chocolate, heat, and poison. The one that made his stomach tighten, his muscles tense, and if he forgot to push back, his toes would curl as if he were some young maiden with a crush. “Does it suit?” Amren asked, two fingers toying with the central jewel, briefly drawing his eyes from her body to her neckline.   

Varian nodded; He could do little else aside from swallow once, twice, his throat dry as parchment. “An- An exhibition was unnecessary.” He tried to sound angry, but it was difficult when the sight of her - this otherworldly, shining woman - induced a reverence in him that he’d seen others experience in grand cathedrals or fine art galleries. His frustration with himself simmered silently, indecision rooting him to the spot.  

“What else would you suggest then, to bring you to heel?” Amren asked, unblinking.

“I- to bring me to _what_?” he stuttered, tightening his grip upon the door handle.

She snorted, and somehow even that seemed dignified. “Such a stubborn pup. Must you be difficult even when I reward you?” She met his gaze, holding it with her piercing silver eyes, their natural slant accented by dramatic lines of shimmering black kohl. “I liked your gift. You have my thanks, but don’t think that it will make me wait forever. I’ve spent more than enough of my life _waiting_.” She held a deceptively small, delicate hand out to him.

“Come.”

Perhaps it was lunacy to do so, but Varian dropped his hold upon the door and walked over to her. How could he say no to this woman? How could he say no to _her_? She glowed like all the suns and all the shadows of the world had been bound up within her body, and power seeped from every pore of her corporeal form. He’d heard rumours about her true nature, had believed them, but witnessing her now, framed by candlelight, he knew none of them were accurate. The petty, gossiping minds of the courts lacked the imagination to do her justice. She was unmatched. She was- She was-

She was the enemy of his court. Breaking out of the spell he’d allowed himself to fall under, Varian tightened his slack-jawed expression into a scowl. He reminded himself that he was a prince, a Captain of the Guard, and he was not to be ordered around by a traitor. “I am not some servant. I am not-”

“You are a man, of flesh and blood and impulse.” She watched as he drew level with her, and in one swift movement pulled herself up to sit upon his dresser so that she did not have to look up to meet his eyes. “And for a chance to know what it is to have my thanks, you will kneel.” Her thin-lipped smirk only grew as he began to protest even the suggestion of such a ridiculous idea. “Kneel before me, pup. Kneel, and be honoured.”

Those words could start a war. Those words were insane. Those words were ones he’d be hearing every night in his head for a month.

He knelt. At her feet, the sandstone floor was cold and hard, but Varian was grateful for the grounding sensation as he sat soaked in the heat that radiated from her bared skin. Up this close he could smell her, a metallic, burnt smell that he could taste at the back of his throat, like the bitter aftertaste of lapsang tea. It was unexpectedly overwhelming, but not unpleasant. Like incense, spices, midnight ceremonies, sacrilegious rituals-

His hazy ramblings were interrupted as she cupped his chin in her hand, her painted nails digging into the skin of his jaw. She tilted his face skywards to inspect him, turning his head slowly from side to side before returning back to centre to hold his gaze. “Handsome boy,” she said. “Neat. Clean. Shaven.” She dropped his jaw and reclined back, leaning against the mirror on the wall behind. “Keep it that way. It suits you well.”

Maybe he really had fallen prey to strange magic, because instead of indignantly protesting, Varian found himself whispering, “Yes, m’lady.”

“M’lady,” She repeated with scorn. “No boy, I am no _Lady_. I need no title or pretence, like those you fill your noble courts with. But,” she stroked his cheek with the lightest touch of her fingertips, “for tonight, you may call me Mistress.”

He nodded. “As you wish. Mistress.” The new name felt far too comfortable spoken on his tongue. He knew not why, but it stirred an unwanted feeling in his stomach, and he felt his trousers grow tighter. Those terrifying eyes of her noticed all too easily, and she smirked again. “You won’t be needing that, pup.” Atop the polished wood of the dresser, she parted her legs, displaying what little had been previously left to the imagination. “Tonight, you prove yourself worthy of my attention.”

Though the hardening of his cock already sought relief, Varian did not argue. Whilst his groin ached for release, his lips begged to feel her skin, his tongue to taste that strange, supernatural skin of hers. Somehow, he suspected it would be just as much a pleasure for him as it would be for her.

With the slow, steady confidence of a deity well-accustomed to worship, she extended her leg to him. All chance at resistance vanished, and greedily, he took her foot into his mouth. Moaning, he felt that incredible warmth, that unquestionable power of hers flood through him from her, pulsating in his muscles. It felt profane, blasphemous, but that only had him pushing deeper as he licked up across the arch of her foot, savouring the salt of her skin. The disgust he should have felt lay forgotten. She tasted divine.

Like a suckling babe he kissed and nuzzled her slender ankles, eyes half closed. He felt drunk. Perhaps she’d bathed in some aphrodisiac or hallucinogen, but through the thin veil of his lashes Varian could have sworn that colours had grown brighter, intensified, and her body- her body had transformed. Beneath the dark bronze of her skin, her bones seemed to be glowing like the smouldering coals of a furnace, and crackles of firelight danced across the strong curves of her limbs as she flexed each muscle.

“Good,” she praised him softly, leaning in to stroke his hair. She knotted her fingers there, and gently guided his lips closer to the folds betwixt her legs. For a moment, she let him lounge upon her thighs, kissing and grazing the tender skin there with his teeth, before she pulled him closer still. “Drink,” she commanded in little more than a whisper.

And so he drank. Her clit was damp with her own wetness as he kissed there, and it tasted and felt so good he could not help but close his eyes. He drank and he drank deeply, parting his lips wide to stroke his tongue slowly up along the swollen ridges of her clitoris, the heat of her throbbing through him. Behind closed eyes he could see flickers of that strange firelight coming to life, sparking around him and exploding in waves of heat and bright light, but he did not dare to open his eyes to look and see just what was really happening. For once, he hoped it was magic. Nothing else would do the moment justice.

“ _Good_ ,” she said again, and this time she too showed the strain, her voice marred by a suppressed groan. It broke loose as he licked inside of her, and her fingers tightened in his hair, tugging, with restraint at first, soon with enough force to send delicious chills through his muscles. “Deeper. _Now._ ”

He was more than happy to comply. With a fervour that should have frightened him, Varian leant into her and relished in his servitude. He could not lick deep enough, or fast enough, to satisfy himself, to get enough of those low groans or that fantastical heat that swelled and flowed from her like the movements of a grand symphony. Though he tried to speak, to voice this near religious experience so that she could know to deliver him, all that came out were feral sounds, half-formed syllables melting and sliding into one another before dissolving into an inevitable moan. He had never been so broken, nor so complete.

“Fuck,” she said, bucking back against him. The sensation of being buried, of drowning in strong thighs and blazing heat left Varian dizzy. He reached around to grip her buttocks and back with trembling, clumsy fingers, but desperation to lose himself further within her drove him on. Were she truly the dragon some whispered her to be, he’d gladly let himself be consumed, mind, body, and soul. Whatever she was, he’d never known such majesty.

They came together. With a crying gasp she arched her hips up against him, tightening her legs around him. She tasted like fire given form upon his tongue, and that heat crested over him along with the intense pleasure, tipping him over the edge. His skin was soaked with sweat, his trousers stained dark across the crotch. He was a mess. And yet for one long moment, he had never felt so pure, so full. He felt as if he had been reborn.

“Well done,” She said, loosening her grip upon his hair. He opened his eyes at last to see her shivering, her perfect hair ever so slightly ruffled, her strong, supple body rippling with the aftershock of the orgasm. “Well done.” She released him, but stroked the contours of his cheekbones and jaw with the backs of her fingers. “You more than lived up to my expectations, boy. I shall call upon you again. Soon.”

He did not get a chance to ask her what she meant. By the time he had composed himself enough to remember full words, she had slipped from the dresser and adorned herself in one of his crimson silk robes. As he went to speak, she opened the doors to his chambers. “I trust my gift lived up to yours.” She said, glancing back over her shoulder. “Goodnight, Varian. Sleep well.” And with a click of the door lock, she was gone.

He was left there, deconstructed. Left only with the promise of ‘soon’. And yet he did not regret it.

He had witnessed heaven.   


End file.
